She Cooks, He Watches
by SineTimore
Summary: A bet, a meal, a kiss.


**Disclaimer:** I have very little to do with a lot of things. Castle is one of them. Oh, and by "very little", I mean nothing at all.

**AN:** This is for my lovely new friend, Heleen. She's quite a human. Also, it's way past my bedtime so if this is utter nonsense, please forgive this old broad. Also also, thanks to Annie Lennox for her unending inspiration. She's a musextraordinaire.

* * *

She banishes him from her kitchen for the _fourth_ time, each instance a different reason for her, his reason for being there consistent – it's where she is. He eventually raises the white flag and excuses himself to the sofa. He still wins. He can watch her from there.

She lost the bet so she's stuck cooking dinner. She'd been certain that she could hold out longer than him this morning but then he'd gone in to wash his face and he'd come out looking like _that _and, well, the loss was worth it. Twice.

The golden light of the early summer evening pours through her oversized windows and casts a warm glow throughout the room. From his new vantage point, he can enjoy the warm sun against the back of his neck. It has a tranquilizing effect and he feels the blink of his eyes grow slower as the minutes pass. Every so often, the clank of a pan or the whoosh of the water from the faucet startles him alert but not enough to maintain that state. He's comfortable, at peace, entirely relaxed.

She quite enjoys the quiet. It's not commonplace in her world, certainly not when he's around, so she drinks it in, lets it permeate every pore. She catches herself glancing at him more often than necessary, as if tasked with his guard. Her current attempt to cut a potato with a spoon is but one example of her level of distraction.

He's sun-kissed from their day together. The color on his skin brings out his subtle freckles. She wants to find every one, touch every one. She recalls how he'd squeezed her hand on the sidewalk earlier and when she'd stopped to look at him, the blue of his eyes had made her heart skip a beat. She really needs to focus on this dinner. She really doesn't want to focus on this dinner. Not when he's right there.

She pours him a glass of wine. She's working on her second, because the cook deserves it. She places her hand lightly upon his denim covered knee and he stirs awake. She looks like a dream to him, a never-want-to-wake-up-from-this kind of a dream. "Hey, sleepyhead. You're going to be up all night if you sleep now."

It takes him a moment to get his bearings. She's real. It's better than a dream. "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I wanted to help with dinner."

"_Help_ is one of the easy words, Castle. If you're unclear about its meaning, you might want to give the whole writer thing a second thought."

"Wha…I?"

"I wouldn't exactly call you asking me if you could lick my spoon helpful, Castle. I just can't believe it took four rounds of cooking euphemisms for me to kick you out."

"Obviously, Beckett, that means on some level you really want me to li-"

"Castle!" she interrupts. "Just drink your wine. I need to go finish up. Do you think you can stay awake and stay _over here_ for a little bit longer?"

"Will there be some sort of reward involved if I do?" he asks like a boy of seven.

"You mean aside from the delicious feast that I've been slaving over?" she retorts as she rises to walk away. "There's always dessert, Castle. There's always dessert."

She can't see his grin.

He watches her as she moves away from him, takes all of her in. The heels of her tall black boots that bring her lips nearly level with his. _He wants to taste her lips_. The fit of her jeans that accentuates every inch of her mile-long legs. _He wants to feel her legs around him_. The drape of her shirt that reveals the radiant skin of her left shoulder. _He wants to run his fingertips across her belly_. The errant strand of hair that tickles her neck. _He wants to fall asleep with her waves across his pillow_.

"Kate," he utters, though too faintly for her to hear. "Hey," he tries again, more desperate now for her attention.

"Yeah?" she asks without pulling her eyes from her current task.

"Come here."

"What? Castle, I'm trying to-"

"Kate, please," comes out less as a question than he intends.

She can tell by the way he's looking at her that this isn't going to go away without her acquiescence so she relinquishes her implement and moves towards him. He rises from the sofa and meets her halfway, pulling her body to his in possessive action, one hand around her lower back and one along her cheek. A small sound escapes from her lips as she meets him in the moment. His eyes journey up from her breasts to her neck to her mouth to her eyes to her hair and back down again. His hand moves from her cheek to the clip that holds her hair in place and he removes it, lets it drop to the floor. The waves, still damp from her morning shower, fall around her face and it nearly takes his breath away.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Kate Beckett?"

"Castle, what-"

The remainder of her question is swallowed up by his voracious mouth. The kiss is wet and deep and long. When the need for air finally interrupts, they remain still, forehead to forehead, unmoving.

"Well," she clears her throat, "if _that's_ your method of convincing, Castle, I'm going to continue to remain uncertain. Now, let's eat so we can get to that reward we discussed."


End file.
